When His Sadness Was The Sun
by Jatd4ever
Summary: Through closed eyes, he was there, and so was she. One shot for Day 5 of Jantherweek. Day 5 prompt: Saudade


***I don't own jane and the dragon or its characters**

 **Sadly, this is my only contribution to Jantherweek. It's great seeing everyone enthusiastic, and I hope to see more of this kind of thing as time goes on.**

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There were days that felt like even the darkness could win. Ebb and flow, his heartbeat, his thunderous feelings, he could not decide where to go. He was not lost in the valleys, and the sea was not so indifferent, but where was the vibrant sun to guide him during midnight rains? What tragedies would moonlight reflections bring?

Soon would come the winter, along with yesterday's sadness. His heart was breaking with dreams which could not come true. Lush valleys there used to be, along with miles of laughter, and copper tresses. Stones, a mountain, it's caves, they echoed, until there was nothing but a single heartbeat. His mind held on to the ghost of her, but they would come together in a dream.

Oh the places he had seen, well almost had seen. All the places Gunther had almost gone, but did not, because they remained in his head, etched in the crevices of his heart. What was a heart, but a fleshy organ, pumping life through him, allowing him to live, breathe, and exist in places he did not want to be. There were books unwritten, rhapsodies, poetry, all of which would remain unseen. Where were his golden days with the sun?

Perhaps this was his mind telling him to walk through nightmares, or perhaps dance in a collective dream. Even when one tries to keep busy, it seems there is time for loneliness to wrap its vines about ones throat, and suffocate what happiness was left behind. Gunther was not a beast, he was capable of conscious decisions, but what could he do but run to the ends of the earth. However, when could he stop running?

When there was nothing else left, how was there still room to feel? Running away from the quiet, from the nothingness around him, there were days that felt like even the darkness could against the brightest of days, he tended to ignore what everyone said. Once, he happened to jump off a bridge, wanting to become one with the sea, but then he saw himself, and knew this was not what he should be. In the distance, perhaps it was her echo, or a madman's daydream, but he did not want to lose her in the people, or the sea.

There were days, he was screaming from the top of his lungs, but no one could hear him. Days he had cried, yet there were no tears. No, madness was not becoming. Neither were dreams always a blessing, or days the nights afterthought. Through closed eyes, he was there, and so was she.

He feared, he dreaded, he should have just let go, but in the water, he saw himself, and jumped off the bridge, and became one with the sea. In the water, there were no divisions, it washed his soul clean. Ebb and flow, his heart, his feelings, he could not decide where to go. Ebb and flow, in the ripples he saw himself and knew it was not meant to be. Torn and broken, his form was out of shape, lost and stolen, his soul felt abandoned, and it ached.

Darkness was a friend, and he could not pretend, or forget. How, when, could it all end? Perhaps when Sunday fogs, and young lovers were but blinks, and his lips stopped quivering. Moonlight, why did it dare not abandon? And why was he so cold?

Chills, they felt like memories made in the coldest winter. Fire, it had been the bane of his existence, burned him, spurned him, scarred him, leaving its scalding reminders. Still, when night ran away, then came the shining light, the morning, the sun, with its beauty; it was bright. It warmed his skin, and he felt good, not in the way he knew he should. Why, even ale could warm.

Ale it burned, just as well as the sun, but then he would be nothing, but a desperate man, afraid to face the truth. In the morning, there was no day, or night, but truths. If only she could come back and see, what matters most to him. Whether it was day, or night, what he was missing, what would find its way, every day, he was the moon, and she the sun. If only he could see, if only he had won.

If only Gunther could have one more chance, but then what business did the fire have with charred remains?


End file.
